


our love language is naps

by MakeMeBurn



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Austistic Reid, Caring Derek Morgan, M/M, OSHA approved snuggling, Post-Case Plane Ride, Sleepy Boys, Sleepy Derek Morgan, Sleepy Spencer Reid, copious amounts of parentheses, everyone's favorite two pairs of big brown eyes, naps!, temporarily nonverbal Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25632298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MakeMeBurn/pseuds/MakeMeBurn
Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Comments: 8
Kudos: 380





	our love language is naps

Long flights on the way to a case are nice because it gives the team ample time to review the files, toss around theories, and rest up. Long flights on the way home from a case are a special kind of hell (well as hellish as a private jet cruising at high altitudes can be). 

This hell has to do with the fact that they spend anywhere from a couple days to a couple weeks in some town that usually doesn’t want them there, trying to save people from killers that don’t want to be found. They sleep in shitty hotels or passed out over case files in a dirty old police station, and live off stale coffee and burnt burgers from whatever local greasy spoon they happen upon. They work long days and longer nights. They don’t think about their family or their friends or themselves because the only thing that deserves their focus in these small towns on the edge of total chaos is keeping people safe. Of course, this all ends up being worth it when (or if) they save whatever poor soul who fell victim to the latest big bad wolf of the American streets. 

Then, they pack up their stuff and get on a big flying metal box to go home. They’re drained, they're sad, and maybe they took this case in particular a little too personal for some reason, and they are feeling raw in a way they would really rather not discuss. And yet, the metal box is filled with some of the best profiling minds in the world. They know what is wrong with you and they don’t care if you don’t want to talk about it. 

Derek Morgan and Spencer Reid were locked in that kind of battle on the quiet jet during a 12-hour flight back to Quantico this evening. 

Derek was leaning over in his seat, one headphone propped on top of his head so he could best assess the situation. The situation being this—Spencer twiddling his thumbs and tapping his foot and chewing his lip and generally looking like he was thinking too much and making himself sick about it. This was not an uncommon sight. However, in Derek’s opinion, this never made it easier to have sitting two rows down from him. 

Derek, being one of the aforementioned best profiling minds in the world, was weighing his options. He wanted to help but he wanted to give Spencer space. He wanted to hold Spencer’s hand and rub the pad of his thumb across the back of his knuckles until the tension in said hand abided some, but he didn’t want the hand holding to attract too much attention to a very new and very vulnerable relationship. 

Derek was going to wait it out. 

Derek was planning to wait it out until he heard a soft- nearly undetectable- sniffle from Spencer. The younger agent looked as surprised by the small sound as Derek had been. Spencer looked up and locked eyes with Derek. He looked away. He looked back. This time, he blinked owlishly and Derek decided he had waited it out enough. He rose from his seat and walked over to Spencer’s, taking his headphones off and pocketing his phone. He sat in the seat next to his boy quickly (before he could decide not to) and quietly (before anyone else could decide to notice). 

“Baby,” Derek said, turning towards Spencer. Spencer shook his head slightly and swallowed thickly. 

Spencer Reid is a man of many words (arguably too many words). He does not stop chattering or rambling or talking for almost anything. Occasionally, the words and facts would cease and he finds himself unable to verbalize anything. It scares him. It used to scare Derek. These days though, he simply takes up the talking helm and makes it his own business to get Spencer calm and comfortable enough to feel like himself again. 

“Baby boy, let’s go lay down, okay?” Derek started. He had seen this before, he knew Spencer needed gentle prompting and a firm hand. He was lost in his mind and embarrassed that he couldn’t voice what he needed. They were learning to trust that the other knew what they needed when they couldn’t trust themselves to execute such things.

Spencer looked at him and tilted his head quizzically. “Yep,” Derek found himself continuing, “we’re gonna get up and lay down on that couch over there. Your favorite couch. The couch you like more than me.” 

Spencer wrinkled his nose slightly at that (blessed be, a reaction) and nodded. He rose from his seat with Derek and reached for his hand. Derek squeezed that hand slowly (and not as hard as he wanted to, but you don’t always get what you want) and started to walk them towards the couch a few yards away at the back of the jet. Spencer shuffled his feet against the carpet on their way over there and sat down once they were in front of it. Derek sat next to him (a lot of the early stages of dating is just taking a seat next to each other).

“Great. I think we’ll be more comfortable here,” Derek near whispered. “I’m going to lay down now. You, my sweet boy, don’t have to if you don’t want to. If you get sleepy or cold though, I would be happy to have my kitten in my arms.”

Reid nodded, giving Derek an indication that he heard him through the fog and the fuzz. This was good enough for the older agent who decided to keep true to his word, toeing off his shoes and getting horizontal for what could very possibly be a truly and deeply fantastic nap. 

Derek always slept better around Spencer. He chalked this up to some kind of beautiful combination of knowing Spencer was safe and within arm’s reach, and knowing his scrappy little weirdo would throw his twenty pound soaking wet body at whatever threat would dare disturb Derek in sleep or any kind of peace. 

Derek was letting his eyes close and his mind roam with lovely thoughts of this variety when Spencer tugged a little at the end of Derek’s sleeve and started moving around to get comfortable. Derek took the hint easily and lazily opened up his arms for his slightly squirming boy. 

Spencer layed down and slotted his body back against Derek’s, settling comfortably into his warmth and allowing himself to be enveloped by those strong arms. Derek smiled and leaned forward to take in a whiff of his curly hair. It smelled like coffee and whatever cheap shampoo the latest hotel had offered. 

Spencer moved Derek’s hands where he wanted them—tightly around his midsection, offering pressure but not constriction. They have done this dance before.

Later, Spencer would apologize for not being able to communicate with Derek (in about a year he would have done enough therapy and had enough support that he would no longer feel the need to apologize for an aspect of his neurodivergence that he can’t control) and thank him in soft hands pressed against a warm body. 

For now, Derek rubbed Spencer’s belly gently through his sweater (a maneuver that practice had taught him could make Spencer fall asleep in under 20 minutes with a 90% success rate). Spencer hummed in both gratitude and in the absolute bone-deep contentedness that a good belly rub evokes.


End file.
